He wasn’t coming home today. Not ever will I see his face. No more could I hear is voice. He was gone. He wasn’t coming home.
Rain poured down the glass as I looked out the window. Hours past in minutes as I waited for the black expedition that would never come. I heard the distant thunder and waited for the flash of lightning. The rain began to beat down on our street. I stopped believing in what my dad said long ago. He always said that the rain was God crying. I now relies that he truly was laughing.
I touched the window as if it were a cloud both beautiful yet imprisoning. The hate began to swell inside of me. I felt it flood through my body like lightning as it sparked my nerves.
“Why!†I screamed, “why God? You let him die. You’re nothing God, nothing but a legend of a monster that torments the sea. You’re nothing but an image of what weak people dream that they will one day see. I know what you are. Nothing, no one!†I collapsed, kneeling on the ground. I began to pound the floor. “Why? Why is he not coming home?â€Â
The next day I woke up with my head pressed against the window and a terrible twinge in my neck. I walked into the kitchen and stared at the calendar. Today was September 12, 2001. Then with a burst of speed everything came back.
“Mom? Sydney? Dad…†then I broke off when I heard an enormous screech from my mothers room.
“Mom?†I called again. There was no answer and I sprinted up the stairs. Walking in my mother’s room I stopped in shock. There were picture frames sprawled around the room and the news was on full blast.
“The death toll is in the thousands,†the announcer began, “however no list has been made. We are to remember those lives, the lives of the ones affected and the lives of the victims of this tragedy. Remember the lives of our heroic firefighters and…â€Â
“Ah! Jaycee!â€Â
“Mom, its okay.†I walked to her bed. Pushing away the pictures on her bed, I sat down next to her. Then I noticed that all the photos were of Dad. There we a few of him in his suit. He looked so happy; I began to cry too.
“Aw, Mom. You still have Sydney and me. And…well†I burst into tears, hate swelled in me again. Look at what you have done God.
My father was a fire fighter for the New York City Fire Department. He was and still is my hero. We had received the news about my father’s death late last night. The chief of his squadron had given us everything there was to know, including how my dad died and what will be done in his honor and the other fighters. The chief told us straightforward that my dad was going through the ruble of one of the towers and he found a young boy who was badly injured. He was still stuck under the cement. My father was moving the dry wall when his foot had gotten wedged into two pieces of what used to be the floor of level thirty-one. He yanked his foot free but it caused the pile of floorboard tile to collapse. He must have had only enough time to push the boy out of the way before the mound crushed him. He died instantly. No one could have saved him. The chief gave his sympathy and then hung up. All I could do was cry. My hero was lost.
I boarded bus seventeen and sat alone. My mother had told me to go to school hoping to keep my mind off of my dad’s death. No one knew I was crying. I hid my face from everyone. I didn’t speak a word in any class and I spent lunch in the restroom. In every class I would leave and sit in the library, where I would just sit there and cry. Staring at my feet, I walked back to class. I was just outside my geometry class when the door flung open and punched me in the face. My head flew back and i landed like a dead star on the ground.
this is a preview to a book im writing. I posted this once and no one really responded. so i wondered if it was really bad. please comment.I want to know!!!
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